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I write about politics and culture, so from time to time I lambaste powers-that-be in Washington, Georgia’s gold dome and NCAA’s headquarters. But this week I dance down memory lane.

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Back in my country store days, an insurance salesman would stop by now and then. One day, he encountered one of his prospective customers.

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It’s been a long time since I’ve been to an airport. A year to be exact.

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My freshman year of college, I went on what has now become known as an “alternative spring break.” Rather than go to the beach with friends, I went to the southwest corner of Virginia to spend a week with an organization called Appalachia Service Project. That week changed my life.

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As more people take the COVID-19 vaccines, more activities that were shut down last year are beginning to reopen. That applied to Easter egg hunts this past weekend, made apparent by all the litter and trash that could be found in public parks Monday morning.

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This year’s Academy Award nominations were announced last month, and it seems like they were met with a collective shrug. Sure, film nerds like me still keep up with the Oscars, but they’ve been losing their pop culture relevance for at least a decade (some would argue longer). The ratings d…

There it hung, solemnly, in all its glory on my grandmother’s kitchen wall. It was something to be proud of and each month that she paid a few dollars to the Standard Phone Company, she was, indeed, proud.

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When Georgia elected Raphael Warnock and Jon Ossoff to the U.S. Senate, I was proud of my state. Pride goeth before the fall.

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President Joe Biden is so committed to bipartisan cooperation and fact-based governance that he’s launched an ignorant and incendiary attack on the new Georgia voting law.

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From the time I got a job in broadcasting, until a year ago, I had a daily routine. I would spend around 10 hours a day at work, and then come home. In spring and summer, I would do yard work for an hour or two, or watch the Atlanta Braves. In the fall and winter, I would watch a little TV, …

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Our friendship goes back to high school. We were roommates, straight out of college. We were bridesmaids in each other’s wedding. She knows the worst of me and, usually, finds it funny rather than off-putting.

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When it comes to those who hold elected office, I don’t want them to take on the appearance of certain game show contestants.

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When I think of immigration in America, the scene from “The Godfather Part II” comes to mind. Young Vito Andolini has escaped assassins in Sicily, sails to America, and stands in line at an immigration station in New York Harbor. The immigration officer reads his documentation incorrectly. T…

Whenever a Southern woman is feeling lost or has a need to busy her hands, more often than not, she will make her way to the kitchen the way a sinner will run to the altar.

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A few years ago, I wrote a column about folks who get on our nerves. Like the people who lean in too close to talk after they’ve gulped down a jalapeno burger with extra onions.

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The time change got us to talking about birds. At least that’s what the conversation centered around Saturday night at our house before the early Sunday morning time change deadline.

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“God gave us the great freedom of choice. But, He did not give us the freedom from the consequences of our choice.” — Author Unknown

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I tend to be hard on my hands, so Mama gave me a pair of gardening gloves. Although I always try to be thankful when anybody gives me anything, I have to confess, I wasn’t quite sure about those gloves. They were well made from sturdy cotton, to be sure, but they had flowers on them. Pink ones.

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Someone posted to social media a photo of one of the first TV dinners, which brought back memories of those long ago days just as I was about to prepare a complete dinner which had been shipped to us in a box.

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There is nothing more difficult than to call a mother of a client and tell her that her son is dead because of a heroin overdose. Last year, I had to make two of these phone calls. I will never forget the responses from the mothers.

My cousin, Lynn, and I sat side-by-side every week in Sunday School, in the choir where less than a dozen people sang, and on the second bench on the left side for preaching.

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The calculator is broken.

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“In like a lion … out like a lamb.” Well, March didn’t disappoint. Monday morning at about 5, the wind came roaring in. I’d have to say it wasn’t exactly lion-like. As the west- driving rain hammered our windows and falling branches thudded on the roof, it was more like “In like Godzilla.”

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I feel like a lottery winner. The jackpot isn’t cash to splurge on jewelry and fancy cars, but a more valuable fortune. I won the possibility to cheer at graduations, cry at weddings and hold great grandchildren in my arms.

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One year ago this week, I was living a normal life, and you probably were too. There were no masks, no social distancing, and no fear. We dined inside at restaurants, we shopped, and we attended ball games, movies, live concerts and church.

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It wasn’t really a reference book by definition, I guess, but a telephone directory was certainly a good way to look up more than just a phone number back in the day. As far as I know actual hard copy phone books with lists of telephone numbers are no longer available. There are, however, on…

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Thank goodness that my parents believed — and firmly practiced — the old-fashion philosophy of “Children should be seen and not heard.”